standing it.

my entire a-hole is being f*d so hard right off of my body!
and NOT in a good way.
not only is my car wrecked to the point of pensive & expensive repairwork,
but it's partly due to me being nice to some a-tards last year!!!
serves me right, right?
remember back to when i got rear-ended at the falafel extravaganza?
yep.
those young, dumb ladies actually did doo-doo some internal injury to my car's butt.
and now it's f*d up....
basically,
it turns out that the age old axiom about gold-medal, finish line, victory lap jerks rings true:
nice guys finish last....
i think how you play the game is important, too;
however, bold barbarian battle beasts make the race more interesting.
word up.

so when a real low point hits home,
and the berserker bouillion has been thinned out with too much waterbaby water,
and too often, too, to boot,
what's the right answer?
a big ol' blazin', ragin', full of hottness contagion bonfire, of course!
it's the secret universal plan's secret recipe for remembering.
in-the-moment,
pure-being,
just be dopeness.
hot fire.
low points define your flavor more than high points, anyway.
and everybody has their own problems, ya'll.
so,
i'm gonna bring the thunder,
as usual,
and maybe even light my car ablaze while i'm at it,
viking funeral style....
at least my new vanity plates will look so fresh on a new whip...
when life hands you sh!t, my ninjas,
make sh!t-salad sandwiches.
but go easy on the doo-doo butter.
and hold the weak sauce.
every windfall is first made up of wind,
and then a fall.
change, war, and failure,
the three basic building blocks of steppin' up and over the one-to-ten limitations of
regular, everday, ordinary babypants livin',
and takin' that next step,
all the way to eleven.

i promise,
if any of you really-real-life-livin' ragnarok-stars
buy any of this art that my house is full up to the brim with,
i won't spend a single dime of it on lame vehicle consumption.
do ya'll know what's useful for tightening your bootstraps and your belts?
and also for stoppin' up the best laid clockwork cogworks?
and for wranglin' up the loosey-goosey slackin' limpwristed lameness? 
uh-huh,
the wrench.
like i said before,
sometimes,
the wrench chooses you.
never quiet, never soft...